Print

She's a lady,and she barely knows her name nowIn the twilight as she sleepsAnd her memories chase her down the days of childhoodThere was music, always musicAnd her brothers – there was Robert,the captain of a freighter that sailed to ChinaThere was Shannon, who ran off one icy morningAnd then Herbert and then Frank, all so handsomeAnd her sisters, who were beautifuland yearned to be together.She's a lady,and she's sleeping like a princesswho will wake up and drink amberfrom a slipper made of diamondsShe was married to a blind man who was my father,such a charmer, and another whose name was RobertWho holds her fragile hand while I am weepingChardonnay in a crystal glass,amethysts on her fingersRoses and forget-me-notsin the garden where she lingeredAll around her the snowy peaksLetras de cancionesdrew her eyes with wonderAll of her betrayals drownedin the roaring canyon's thunderShe's a lady,and she always dressed in silk and had her hair doneand her clothes were pretty colorsand the scent of Chanel in her satin cloakwhen she went dancing with my fatherwhen they were very youngShe's a lady,and saw nearly twenty presidents and she voted for ObamaIn the old days,sipping Presbyterians, she'd argue with her childrenwho had opinions about everything that matteredAnd she'd tell of the time she saw Rachmaninoff.Chardonnay in a crystal glass, amethysts in hernecklace Roses and forget-me-notsand three sons so fine and recklessDaughters too, who were free like herOne who sang and one who paintedShe loved them all ever more and moreAnd thought all of us should be saintedShe's a lady,and she barely knows my name nowIn the twilight, and she sleeps most of the dayand when she wakes up she says that she's going homeAnd asks me how I knew where to find herIn this home that's not her homeShe sees her garden,Growing wild since she had to leave the sweetnessof those afternoons on her patioWhere Robert kept the flowers blooming.She's a lady,and she's going home she tells mein the twilight as her eyes closeI ask her where,and she says that it's a secretThen she's gone just like the flowers in her garden.Chardonnay in a crystal glass, amethysts on her fingersRoses and forget-me-nots in the gardenwhere she lingeredAll around her the snowy peaksdrew her eyes with wonderAll of her betrayals drownedin the roaring canyon's thunderMarjorie, my mother, sweet Marjorie of the gardenThat blooms now in my heart From Letras Mania